Walk as though deep in thought, with a purpose. Something his old friend Kas had told him some ten years ago. It was the attitude least likely to attract interest from passersby. And how many would there be? If anyone came at him and Rone couldn’t quickly deal with it, he’d have to spin the amarinth and hustle out of there. Try again later. If he had a later.
The look on Sandis’s face when she realized . . .
It wasn’t the ball in his gut that got him this time, but a pulling from his throat to his chest. Like a taut elastic cord. Maybe he’d handled it all wrong. Maybe instead of giving her a final, pleasant day, he should have distanced himself from her. Been crueler to her. Made her grateful to be going back.
God’s tower, she’d been so happy that day. So hopeful. And so concerned over him. Hadn’t that been the first thing she’d done when she sensed that wolf numen nearby? Try to save him?
He shook his head and slipped back into the hallway. He couldn’t dwell on that now.
As if he’d dwelled on anything else since leaving her screaming and kicking in that alleyway. Screaming his name.
Focus. The pain in his chest made him anxious, which would make him sloppy. He had to remember the way out. Trace his steps. Note what and whom he saw. The place appeared pretty linear—it curved, mostly one long hallway with a few branches. He wondered if this had once been a Noscon mine or if the grafters had carved it out themselves . . . or with their numina. The farther Rone walked, the more the place sloped downward. Deeper into the earth. Farther from freedom.
Just like Gerech.
It was weirdly clean, and bland. Long beige tiles covered the floor, their shine worn except for where they met the off-white walls, which met an off-white ceiling. Paint had chipped in several locations, but none had been left hanging. There were bullet holes in the wall here and there. No ornamentation of any kind. The doors were narrow and short, either wood or metal. All had locks. Some locked from the outside.
Another man came up the hall. Rone didn’t look at him. Kept focused. He passed without incident, but Rone’s heartbeat sped anyway. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pinched his amarinth.
He reached a fork. Tried not to hesitate, but another man came up it, startling him. He carried a stack of folded clothes. The ones he wore were gray and drab, like any poor citizen’s attire, but his hair was strawberry gold and long, his face spotted with freckles—obviously a Godobian. About Sandis’s age. No weapons. Not a grafter, but who?
Rone froze when they made eye contact. Got ready to strike— The man stepped back, frightened, but looked Rone up and down. Seconds dragged long before he settled a finger against his lips. Then he ducked his head and continued walking, as if Rone were only a ghost.
Rone glanced back at him, wondering. Just for a moment. He had to keep moving. If this guy was going to give him an in, for whatever reason, he’d take it.
It didn’t feel like a trap.
He pushed forward instead of following the steps of the ginger. Another grafter came up, apparently in a hurry. He bumped shoulders with Rone but kept going. Rone forced air into his lungs.
A door to his left opened; he caught a glimpse of a bare room filled with cots. He recognized the girl who slipped out—small and round faced, blonde. A teenager. More so, he remembered the numen she turned into.
Their eyes met. Recognition struck her features.
Rone heard more grafters coming their way. He needed to hurry.
“Anyone else in there?” he whispered.
Alys—that was her name, wasn’t it?—shook her head, her eyes wide.
“Good.” He pulled out his knife in a quick, fluid motion and grabbed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to come with me. They won’t shoot you.”
The girl’s eyes stared at the blade. She said nothing, but when Rone urged her forward, she complied.
“Now”—his voice was so low it was barely audible—“tell me where to find Sandis.”
Chapter 25
Had this been her fate all along?
Her punishment for what she’d become?
Did the Celestial even hear her prayers anymore, or had it stopped listening the day the Noscon letters were branded into her back?
Sandis was empty. Every bit of her. Empty and cold, and yet her limbs weighed her down. She’d eaten five times a day for the last five days, rich foods that stuck to the ribs, and yet she starved for . . . something. Her mind had deteriorated into sawdust. The thoughts that kept it running were too miserable to think anymore.
She barely remembered being cleaned, but her skin was sore from scrubbing and dry from soap. She watched, as if from a distance, as Kazen’s steady hand drew down her arms. Symbols similar to the ones Heath had worn. Somewhere in that ink was the name Kolosos, she knew. What gave the ink its bronze color, she didn’t want to know. One of the letters looped around the red dot on the inside of her elbow—Kazen had drawn her blood again an hour ago. Maybe that lent to the gaping nothingness inside her.
I should fight. Her mind stirred with the sentiment. Wouldn’t it be better to die fighting than to die when Kolosos rips me apart?
“There we are.” Kazen blew gently on the last symbols to dry them. That ink would mingle with her blood once the summoning failed. And if, somehow, Kazen was successful . . . what then? What would it be like to have that monster inside her, the one she’d glimpsed in her nightmares? The one Ireth had tried so desperately to warn her about?
Sandis hadn’t had a dream since her connection to Ireth had been severed. She couldn’t even cry.
She was empty.
Part of her was desperate to fight. To swat the ink vial away. Smear the letters and make him start over, with Galt and whoever was left of his followers holding her down. But she didn’t know seugrat beyond the trick Kurtz had taught her. She didn’t have a firearm. She wasn’t strong.
Without Ireth, she was nothing.
Kazen stood and crossed his office to the cupboard in the back corner, replacing his brush and vial on a shelf there. Run. But Galt guarded the door. Sandis had no idea what time of day it was, or who was on shift . . . yet she’d noticed there were far fewer grafters in these halls than when she’d left. So many had been hurt or killed in their endless pursuit of her and of— No. Her mind stirred back to life. Don’t even think his name.
She couldn’t bear it. And yet, even with her looming death ahead of her, the trembling of her fingers did not stem from Kolosos.
Closing her eyes, Sandis took a deep breath. Reached for Ireth, only to remember— Her eyes burned behind her eyelids.
“Don’t sleep on me, my pet.” Kazen walked around her chair, perhaps studying her. Sandis slowly opened her eyes and blinked her vision clear. Her master’s spidery hand reached forward to the chain dangling from the metal collar around her neck. Had Heath been collared? She couldn’t remember.
He gave it a gentle tug. Somehow Sandis found the strength to stand.
Kazen stood erect, a look of pleasure crossing his face. “It’s time. Galt?”
Galt opened the door and held it while Kazen led her out like a dog. Anon had always wanted a dog. They had never possessed the means to keep even the mangiest mutt.
Kazen guided her down the hallway. The same path she had traced not long ago on silent feet, following the screams. Would it hurt more than the usual summoning? Was it possible for anything to hurt more than that?
Ireth— No, Ireth was gone. He wouldn’t hear her prayers. Nothing and no one would.
She was going to die. Or maybe, become the vessel for the most fearsome monster she’d ever known.
Her feet dragged. Her neck pulled back on the chain.
Glancing over his shoulder, Kazen’s eyes narrowed. “After all our talks, Sandis, will you really resist me now?”
Talks? When had they talked? Snippets of memories danced behind her forehead. She remembered . . . yet she couldn’t pinpoint a single thing he’d said. The words had merely swirled into her emptiness and passed out again just as quickly.
He was waiting for her to move.